Waking the Witch
by Nina Windia
Summary: In Arendelle, there is a prophesy about a ruler with control over ice and snow who will bring death to the kingdom. Fearing her powers, the King locks away Elsa in the dungeon, out of sight, and proclaims her death. But ten years later, a terrible blizzard hits Arendelle. Elsa has become the terrible Snow Queen, and Anna has no choice but to stop her, or kill her. Elsanna.
1. 1

**A/N- **This story is essentially a darker retelling of Frozen. Arendelle is a crueller place. Our characters are all lonelier. And there's gay incest.

Muchas gracias to my beta reader, Nicpie.

It's written for the elsanna contest over on tumblr, which if you're on tumblr I wholly recommend you check it out. There've been some really amazing submissions.

Wish me luck! The next two parts of this fic will be up shortly.

* * *

**Waking the Witch**

**By** _Nina Windia**  
**_

**1**

It's cold. An abnormal cold. The flames that flicker in the grate struggle and gasp against the wintry air, spitting and hissing. They do little to alleviate the chill in the parlour room. It creeps into the stones, into the marrow of your bones. It's the stab in the pith of your lungs, shivering in your furs with every breath taken. Princess Anna pulls her cloak tighter around herself, eyes darting to the faces around the table; their eyes sunken, mouths distorted with unhappiness.

"The rumours are true, then?" she says. To even speak is painful, the sting in her chest like the bite of icy water.

She'd heard people whispering of it. The blizzard, they said, was coming from the North Mountain. The blizzard, which, at the height of summer, had raged for a month now unceasing. The question that was on everybody's lips: what was causing it?

A witch, the whispers whispered. A sorceress.

Others said: a ghost.

"It's true," says the Regent, who is also her uncle, Magnus, his hair and fur lined cloak dusted with frost. "The blizzard's being caused by your sister Elsa."

A stick falls in the grate. In the silence, it makes an almighty clatter.

Anna laughs. An unnatural laugh. A short, sharp, bark. "You must be mistaken. My sister is dead."

The shriek of the pulley as the coffin is lowered. The feeling of her father's hand heavy upon her shoulder. Anna can still taste it now: the overcast sky closed like a casket over her head. Throat seized shut, a corked bottle. Feeling like she'd never speak a word again.

Whispered words, overheard: "The Princess hasn't been the same since the funeral. She's quieter. There's less of her."

The black eyes of Arendelle's despicable, scheming ministers. Candles drop hot, acrid gouts of wax.

"Forgive me Princess," says the Regent. "There are some things… the King and Queen did not tell you."

* * *

An understatement, thinks Anna, hand pressed against the cold glass of her bedroom window. Her face is calm, but running inside her like an underground river is a quiet, controlled rage. She looks out at a wall of white. Beneath the snow-storm somewhere is the kingdom she's been preparing to rule for ten years, since she was eight years old. Her eyes slide closed.

_Mama, I can't be Queen. I won't know how. You have to tell Papa. Elsa… Elsa is supposed to—_

Her mother, shaking her by the shoulders, hard. _Elsa is gone, Anna. It's up to you now._

Ten years. Ten years of mind-numbing politics and numbers and economics. The things Elsa was good at, that reduced Anna to tears. Struggling to keep up with her work, her tutors swatting her palms. Falling into bed each night, every night, exhausted. Sobbing silently against her pillows, because it was never enough.

Her parents believed in her. But now, they were dead. They'd left her, half-grown orphan heir, to defend herself from the coups, the endless scheming noblemen, cousins who would happily take the throne off her hands. Even Arendelle's ministers would have deposed her if they did not think her a helpless child, a puppet they could control. Well, she considers, let them think it.

Anna's eyes open. She stares out, stonily, into the storm. Her parents, they'd lied to her. And now, she can't even ask why.

Her hand tightens against the glass.

"More than one man has gone to the North Mountain to reason with Elsa," the Regent had explained.

"Fredderickson went," coughed a dried up old minister.

"What happened?" she asked.

"…None have returned," said the Regent.

Silence, like falling snow.

"They could have got lost in the blizzard. Or the cold could have gotten them," she offered. But it's a weak excuse, even to her. Her voice trailed away.

"Now, no one will go near the North Mountain," said the Regent. He shifted uncomfortably, and she realised— "Princess. You understand there is no way we'd ask if there was any other alternative, but—"

"You want me to go to go, don't you?" she said.

Beside her, her betrothed, Hans, started.

"Yes."

A protective gloved hand, gripping her shoulder. "You must be joking," Hans said. "What if she's killed?"

"With all due respect, Prince Hans, this is a matter for Arendelle to decide. It's not the Southern Isles' concern."

"It is, when the Princess is my fiancé," said Hans hotly.

"Hans." On her shoulder, Anna catches his hand with her own. "I understand you're worried, but I don't see any other solution either. People are dying in this weather. Elsa is my sister. She won't hurt me."

"Ten years ago, maybe. But you've no idea what she's like now. People can change, Anna."

She knew that, all too well. Which is why she insisted: "I'm going. My mind's made up."

Hans's voice dropped to a concerned murmur. "I just don't want you getting hurt…"

More like: he didn't want to lose his ticket to the throne. Hans was the fiancé chosen for her by her father. When she came of age, they'd be wed. But he didn't love her. Anna knew that, as he knew she knew. As such, they were perfect partners, mutual in their deceit.

Anna had once dreamed of white weddings and crisp bouquets, but they had wilted the day they lowered her sister's coffin into the hole. Love was a magic she'd long stopped believing in.

The Regent cleared his throat. "Princess, I know this is an ugly thought. But, if you cannot convince Elsa to stop the blizzard… for the good of Arendelle…"

He slid, with two fingers across the table a bundled up object tied with twine.

* * *

**Put an end to this winter. **

On her dresser, unwrapped from the cloth, lies a knife.

* * *

He stands out in the blizzard beside his sled and reindeer. A young man. At least, she thinks it's a young man beneath all the layers and the coat of snow.

By the gate, a gaggle of councilmen crowd like crows, there to see her off.

Squinting through the snowfall. "Are you the one going to take me to the North Mountain?" she asks.

He turns. Blue eyes. "Looks like it, doesn't it?" he says.

"I kind of expected…"

"More?" he quips. "'Fraid not. No one else was stupid enough to volunteer."

* * *

With a crackle, the fire finally starts. The pages of the Arendelle Gazette blacken and crumple inwards. Anna thrusts her ice cold hands above the flames and moans with pure pleasure.

When she's slightly more defrosted, her eyes move to her guide— who she knows now as Kristoff— soaking in the warmth like sunshine. So far he's proven uncommunicative, gross, and—

"Can I ask you a question?" she says.

"You can, though I can't guarantee you an answer." Picking at his earwax.

—Incredibly rude.

She raises her head high. "All I was going to ask was why you agreed to take me," she says, more than a touch of haughtiness in her voice.

In reply, Kristoff rolls an imaginary coin between his fingers.

"Money," she says.

"I harvest ice for a living," he explains. "And, as you can see here…" he extends his hand to the snowy forest.

_Ouch. That's a rough business to be in right now, _she thinks.

"That must be tough for your family," she says simply.

"Who said anything about family? I live alone. Always have. Only family I've got is old Sven here." He loops a hand over his reindeer, nestled down beside him, and gives his fur a ruffle. "Now let me ask you a question," he says. "This is what I want to know. Why is the Regent sending the crown princess to the Snow Queen?"

"The Snow Queen?" Anna murmurs.

"Come on. I know it must be different growing up fancy in a castle, but you must know the prophesy. Even a school child could recite it," Kristoff chides her.

"I know it," Anna says. And in the snowlit forest, she recites:

"**Your future is bleak**

**Your kingdom will splinter**

**Your land shall be cursed**

**With unending winter**

**With blasts of cold will come dark art,**

**And a ruler**

**With a frozen heart**

**Then all will perish under snow, under ice,**

**Until you are freed with a sword sacrifice**."

By her hip, hidden in a secret pocket stitched into her petticoat, the weight of the blade hangs heavy.

"But—" she says quickly, "that's just a legend. A myth. It's not real."

Kristoff raises his hands to the world around him. "I don't know about you, but it's looking pretty real to me right now."

Anna stares down at her hands, silent.

"It's not just the weather either," Kristoff says. "I've met people, and they've _seen_ her." Anna's head snaps up. She listens. "They say she has white wild hair and eyes cold as diamonds. I bumped into a stranger on the road and he told me he looked into them. He said there was nothing inside them." He speaks in a whisper. And one by one, the hairs on Anna's neck stand on end. "He escaped, but his friends weren't so lucky. He said she had a tame bear. Except, made completely out of snow. And it mauled his friends to death. There was no remorse on her face, he told me…"

She shivers. A shiver that reaches down into her bones. "You're trying to frighten me," she accuses him.

"You should be frightened. We're walking into the heart of the monster's lair, after all. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

The image appears to her, as if from smoke. In her mind's eye Anna can see her clearly: white hair, fangs, claws. A monster. A witch. But she sees her sister too. Her kind sister, always thoughtful of others, who told her to shush when she tried to bellow down the castle with an Indian war-cry. Who put her homework down to play with her when she was lonely. Her sister, who she'd never stopped crying for.

One thought, slicing through the fear like a knife blade: _My sister's not a monster. _

"You won't remember this," Magnus had explained to her in the parlour room, "but your sister always had a talent. She could create ice and snow at will. It deeply worried— god bless their departed souls— the King and Queen. One day, by accident, Elsa hurt you with her powers when you were playing. And your memories were tampered with so you would not remember.

"The King tried to have Elsa hide her powers, but they grew too strong to be concealed. It was a dark time. The staff were frightened to go near her. Everyone was afraid Elsa's powers would become known to the other nations and they would believe her the instrument of the prophesy. Others worried that it was she the prophesy foretold.

"Eventually the decision was made. We announced to the world Elsa had died of the red fever. There was a child who had recently succumbed to the disease in the town, and we buried her in Elsa's place. We moved Elsa downstairs, where she could learn to control her powers safely."

Downstairs. What she later learnt her uncle meant: the dungeons.

Before she'd left, she pushed her way past the servants who tried to stop her and made her way to the deepest part of the castle. What she'd found, behind a reinforced door, at the end of a long, dank hall, was a room. It was desolate. Bare. A bed, a dresser and the wall gaping open like a wound. Ice-cold wind whistled through. On the dresser, a hairbrush. Several long blond hairs. Anna held it to her chest.

She'd been here.

A glint caught Anna's eyes. Something metal, so broken and splintered it took her mind a few moments to piece together what she saw. Chains. And cuffs.

Anger, festering under her skin like an unscratchable itch. Anna lost herself with rage.

"You lied to me!" she'd screamed at the councilmen. "All of you, you knew, and— and I was eight years old, crying because my sister was dead, and you had her locked up. She's not the monster, you all are!"

Someone restrained her, and eventually she calmed down. When she spoke again, she stood up straight, her words ice. Gone, the act of the naive young princess.

"I'll do it. But not for any of your sakes. For Elsa's. And when I return we're going to have an inquiry into your crimes."

Someone spoke up against her, and her eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare talk back to me, councilman. I am Princess Anna, daughter of King Alexander. You're lucky I don't hang the lot of you this instant. That's what I want to do." And slowly, he sat down, silent.

In the snowy forest, Anna stares into the flames. With a large _phut_ snow slides off a branch of a pine tree and lands in a pile. Nails dig into her skin.

"Scared, Princess?" Kristoff says with a smirk.

"No." Her voice rumbles from the pit of her stomach. "I'm angry."

In the forest, something snaps. The crack of bracken. The crunch of snow, underfoot. Kristoff tenses. Sven's ears pick up.

"Is it her—" starts Anna.

"Quiet!" hisses her guide. He grabs the lantern and swings it round, peering into the dark.

"You must let me talk to her—"

"I said quiet!" he snaps, smothering her mouth with his hand.

Aggravated, she makes to shove his hand away, when she hears it: a long, distinct _growl_.

"Wolves!" she says. "But… there should be no wolves this side of Arendelle."

"The weather must have pushed them this way," Kristoff said, lighting a torch from the sled off the open flames. "They're hungry."

Eyes open in the dark.

His voice, taut: "Get in the sled."

By the time she's in, Kristoff has already harnessed Sven and leapt in beside her, reigns in hand. The sled jerks off, leaving Anna's stomach behind them.

She twists round and stares into their trail, blinking against the snow that stings her eyes. And sees them. Eyes first. Bright. Mouths, panting, muzzles slathered with saliva. Fur matted, hanging in angry clumps to starving frames, they chase the sled down like they're starving.

Kristoff thrusts the torch into Anna's hands as he drives. Without a second thought she leans over the sled to grab a sack from the back. She lights it and hurls the flaming bag into the midst of the wolves. It hits one, and the rest scatter.

"Those were our supplies," Kristoff says through gritted teeth. "We're not going to survive long without those."

"If we live past the next ten minutes, I'll be content," says Anna, as she throws another flaming sack. It catches quicker than she thought and she singes her palm. The pain is white-hot, but she bites down the scream.

The snow is coming harder now. The poor visibility tightens, till they're driving into a sheet of white.

The forest opens up before them. Too late they see it: rending the earth in two is a deep gorge.

"We're going to jump it," says Kristoff, reigns gripped tight, jaw hard with determination.

"You're kidding!" exclaims Anna.

"Nope," says Kristoff, unhooking Sven, who leaps ahead. Forget ten minutes. Anna begins to wonder if they'll survive the next ten seconds.

She grips so hard to the sled her nails dig into the lacquer. The sled flies. Such a strange, weightless experience. She sees the other side of the gorge. For a moment, it looks like they'll make it. Then the nose of the sled begins to descend.

"Jump, Anna!" cries Kristoff. They leap. All the breath is knocked out of her as she slams into the snowy ledge.

However, there's not a second of relief. A moment later she begins to slide. Her hands scrabble uselessly at the powdery snow— she can't get a good grip. _No— no— no—_

Something metallic flies past. The snow anchor sticks into ground at the side of her head. She grabs on with everything she's got, eyes darting up to her rescuer. _Kristoff, _she thinks with gratitude, deciding that for all his bad habits she'll never think badly of her guide again.

"What are you waiting for? Pull me up!" she calls.

"I don't know if you're in the position to be ordering anyone this minute, _your Highness._"

His tone of voice. It's dripping with spite. He must have lashed the rope to a sapling, because he approaches her now, empty-handed. She's in mortal peril, dangling above the abyss, and he sits calmly before her, cross-legged. What is he thinking? "Y'know," he says, "I really hate you royal types. You tax us till we're half-dead, and then you still presume to lord it over us. You sit pretty inside your cosy castle, and I bet you've no idea the hardships the common man faces, do you?"

"Kristoff," she says, calmly, "pull me up. Please."

He ignores her. "I've got some interesting news for you, Princess. The council and the Regent want you dead. That's why they hired me, to take you up the Snow Queen's place. They don't really think you're really going to be able to stop her. It's a pretty smart plan, actually. Two birds, one stone. You know."

She grits her teeth, tight. She'd underestimated her council. Those dirty, scheming—

"Take me to her then," says Anna. "That's what they've paid you for, right?"

"Right. Thing is though, so long as you're dead, I doubt they're going to care how. Because I don't really want to go near the sorceress's palace."

"Kristoff, _you_—"

"Don't give me that, Princess. S'nothing personal." Standing up, he dusts the snow from his coat. Shrugs. "It's just that I'll do anything. For the right price." In one clean stroke, he slashes the rope with his hunting knife.

And Anna falls.

* * *

She wakes, though part of her wishes she didn't. Everything _aches_. She sits up, and a coating of snow slides from her. She squints up to the top of the cliff face, blinking against the snowflakes, but sees no-one. She's close by to the wreckage of the sled, splinted into a dozen pieces. She decides all things considered, she's been lucky: _I could have landed on the sled and been impaled. _

She needs to leave. Now. Before Kristoff comes back to check the wreckage. But when she tries to stand, her left leg gives way. Slipping back down, she stares at it, stupid with cold and pain. Until she notices the strange angle it's lying at.

_Dislocated, _she thinks, dully.

She feels someone watching her in the dark. She looks around, nervously. If Kristoff comes now, she couldn't be more helpless if she tried. She goes for her knife.

_That doesn't mean I'm just going to sit here and die though. _

He approaches her from out of the dark. Except—

It's not a man. It's a wolf. Smaller and scrawnier than the wolves on the clifftop, it approaches her with a snarl. Anna clutches her knife tighter. She doesn't intend to be taken down by the runt of the litter.

The wolf's legs bend, and it springs. The wind knocked out of her for the second time. Its disgusted matted fur. The wolf's hot fetid breath in her face. With her hands and all the strength in her uninjured leg, she throws the animal from her. With a snarl, it lunges back. And Anna plunges the knife into its exposed underbelly. Frightening, how the blade slides threw sinew and flesh like butter. But then the fear is gone from her, replaced by blistering anger. She stabs, again and again, over and over.

… Until she realises the wolf is already dead.

The knife falls into the snow, the white now stained a much darker shade. She feels light-headed. The pain and the cold are too much for her. And there's nowhere she can go anyway, on a leg like hers. She slips back into the snow, which is no longer feeling quite so cold, or hard…

The thought comes to her: that never before had she taken a life. She always thought she would be too afraid.

She'd never expected that she would enjoy it.

_Am I going to die here…?_

She didn't even make it to see her sister. _What a pathetic thing I am, _she thinks.

…as she succumbs to the dark.

The last thing she sees: A dove, alighting on the carcass of the wolf. Pure white. Like snow.

**To be continued. **


	2. 2

**2**

Anna dreams. A tangled web of dream and memory. Out in the castle courtyard, she and Elsa build snowmen. Elsa blowing on her numbed, freezing fingers to thaw them. "Stop it, Elsa, that tickles!" she exclaims, in a fit of giggles. "Anna… I'm sorry, but your sister is dead." Raw, red-faced, she screams, "No she's not! You're lying! You're lying!" Equations. Endless, endless equations. Regurgitating an alphabet soup of histories, dates. Words, they were only words… "I can't be Queen. I just can't." Thrusting the knife into the wolf, which becomes her uncle, which becomes her father, who turns into Elsa, lying dead on the floor. A scream rises to part her lips. Before Elsa places a finger over them. "Shh." She kneels down onto the floor, eye height with Anna. Glances round, afraid. "I'm not supposed to play with you anymore, Anna. If they catch me here, I'll be in trouble," she whispers. _But why?_ "I can't tell you that… I will one day. And things can go back to normal. It'll be me and you again soon. I promise."

**I promise. **

* * *

She wakes, to the sound of water.

Consciousness comes to her slowly this time. The dull ache of her leg. The sharper pain of her hand. Something hard and flat and cold, beneath her. Not snow. On top of her someone had laid something. It's warm and scratchy. A blanket?

She stirs slightly, hand closing round the coarse horse-hair fabric.

…and something clatters abruptly to the floor. Anna opens her eyes to see a person vanish through the door frame.

…made of ice.

Anna sits up, clutching the blanket to her, wondering. The cavernous high-vaulted ceiling, the walls, even the bed she lays upon: they're all made of sheer-cut ice. Her bed canopy, spun from sparkling crystal threads, delicate as a spider's web. Even the chaise lounge and the coffee table sparkle like glass. Even the vase that sits upon it, filled with marvellous crystalline sunflowers.

Her favourites.

At the foot of the bed is a wooden bucket fallen on its side, sat in a puddle. A cloth. She pulls up the ruined hem of her filthy dress and understands: someone's been cleaning her cuts and scrapes. They've popped her leg back into its socket, too, which is a relief. _I wasn't looking forward to that. _

Her knife, cleaned from the muck, sits in its sheaf on the coffee table.

_Someone is watching me._

She raises her face, to see in the doorway the most beautiful woman she's ever laid eyes upon. She's swathed in a magnificent gown that sparkles with every tiny movement, her snow-trimmed cloak trailing behind her. A high collar frames her head like a halo. Untamed ice-blonde hair. But the most marvellous thing is her crown: dozens of snaking stalactites that top her head like antlers.

Like a cold blast, robbing the air from Anna's lungs. The witch's eyes, trained on her, are cold, polished diamonds.

"E-Elsa?" Anna whispers.

The witch flinches.

This beautiful, terrifying woman before her looks little like the sister she remembers. And yet—

Clasping the blanket closer to her, she slides to the end of the bed. In response, the Snow Queen takes a step backwards.

Tears pool in the corners of Anna's eyes. Her vision blurs: the room splinters like a kaleidoscope. But in all those pieces she sees only one thing: her sister.

"Elsa," she sobs. "You've no idea… you don't know how much I've missed you. I came here— to find you."

When Elsa speaks, her voice is strange and hoarse, as though from a long length of disuse. "To find me?"

"They lied to me. Mama and Papa and Uncle Magnus and everyone else too. They told me you'd died. But I…" clutching hold of the blanket so tightly her knuckles whiten, "I always knew. They said I was in denial. But I knew you'd always come back to me. Because you promised."

With her other hand she pushes herself off the bed. Elsa visibly tenses. But Anna forgets how she'd burned her hand. With a wince, she slips back down onto the bed once more.

Elsa's eyes widen with concern. "Your hand. You've hurt it." Her words are awkward and clumsy, a foreign language being spoken straight from a textbook.

Anna cradles it to her herself with a hiss of pain. "It's… nothing really."

Cautiously, Elsa approaches her, snowy cape dragging behind her. Slowly, a nervous animal, eyes tracked on Anna's face. She pulls up her skirt and kneels by her side.

"I can help," she says. She offers up her open hands like a child showing a dog she has nothing: she is no threat. Anna understands: she is asking for her own. And when she does offer her injured hand, Elsa hesitates. Eyes flick up meet hers.

"You can touch me, Elsa," Anna murmurs.

Elsa touches her as though she's made of the finest glass. Turns her hand over, to see her inflamed red palm. Elsa's fingers are cold, and she touches her own so gently a shiver runs through Anna: not an entirely undesirable sensation. Elsa's eyes meet hers again, seeking permission. Anna nods.

She's still surprised, however, when her sister brings her hand to her lips, and kisses it on the inflamed spot. Delicious, cool relief breaks over her, the burn numbed by delicate frost like spun sugar. It feels so good she cannot help the relieved moan that pushes past her lips.

She opens her eyes to see Elsa peering at her in curiosity. Her cold eyes seem for a moment a child's eyes. Or an injured animal's.

"Thank you, Elsa," she sandwiches her sister's hand between her own, pausing as the older girl flinches. "What… what did they do to you?" she murmurs.

Elsa stares at the floor. Her cracked voice: "I didn't want you to come here. To see me, like this."

Gently, Anna squeezes. "This has all been an awful mistake. But, Elsa… Mama and Papa, they're gone now. We can put things right. You can stop the blizzard, we can go home, and—"

Steel, flashing across Elsa's face. "I won't return to that place."

Anna can't blame her. She doesn't look forward to her return much either. But— "People are dying in this weather, Elsa. If you'd just stop the storm—"

"I can't."

"You… can't?"

Elsa's head is turned away. She sees only the shadow of her face. "I can't," she says again.

"I see…" Anna bites her lip. "Then I'll stay with you."

Elsa speaks in a croak; "What?"

"I won't leave you alone again. So I'll stay with you."

Elsa's lips part. Their hands, still joined. And Anna sees it: a crack across a frozen pond, something vital stirs in her sister's cold eyes.

* * *

They are not alone in the palace, as Anna learns the following morning. She starts awake to a thundering clatter, quickly throwing the blanket from her.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she says, bleary, panicked. "I'm coming now. I forgot, I'm so—"

Her vision clears, and she finds herself sitting inches from a terrifying snow golem. A yelp, and she throws herself against the backboard. The creature cocks its head curiously at her.

And she realises: "A snowman."

_A creepy snowman, _she thinks, as memory stirs within her. She remembers building a snowman like this with Elsa once. It was…

"Olaf!" she exclaims, with delight, as the snowman claps his hands together, a picture of excitement.

…except that, this Olaf has no mouth.

_**Oh, Elsa**__. What did they do to you?_

While each one of Olaf's movements is an exaggeration of cheerfulness and life, its eyes are dulled: lumps of coal.

Her eyes move to Olaf's feet, and she discovers what had awoken her in the first place. The remains of what was apparently her breakfast are all over the floor. An upturned tray. An upside down bowl of porridge. A couple of eggs with bleeding yolks. Only the toast looks vaguely salvageable.

Immediately, Olaf looks deeply contrite, hanging his head in shame. It's kind of cute, and Anna waves her hands furiously. "It's fine! It's fine! Don't worry about it. When I was a kid, I used to be really clumsy too." Quickly she leans down to snatch up a piece of toast and crams into her mouth. She swallows it so fast she starts to choke, and beats her chest with her fist. "See! Still good!"

Olaf perks up like a flower in the sunshine. Jumping up and down, he gestures _watch this_ and picking up the tray he balances it, wobbling, on his head.

_On second thought, that's probably how he lost it._

He takes a few steps back, and gesturing, _make way!_ With arms outstretched he does several, impromptu cartwheels, the tray spinning off across the ice floor.

_Or maybe it was that. _

He offers a deep, sweeping bow, and Anna applauds, laughing. She can't help but laugh, Olaf's such a funny little creature. It's been such a long time since she's laughed at something fun and stupid like this, that she discovers she can't stop laughing. She rocks back and forth, and Olaf touches her shoulder with a concerned twig. Anna raises her head, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Thanks, Olaf," she sniffs.

She helps clean up the mess he's made, and then she asks him, "Where is your mistress?" Olaf cocks his head to the door. _Elsewhere_. "Will you take me to her?"

The little snowman nods with vigour, offering her a twig. Without Anna having to explain her injured leg, he ducks beneath her arm so she can lean upon him.

She says it again, as easily as if to an old friend: "Thank you, Olaf."

* * *

Immaculate: impenetrable: cold. The ice palace is a maze Anna fears that, without Olaf's sure guidance, she would no doubt lose herself in. Huge, vaulted rooms like the inside of a cathedral. Elaborate ice-carved pillars and buttresses, vanishing to pin pricks high above. With Olaf's help, she traverses a spiral staircase that twists inwards like a corkscrew, running her hand along the smooth banister. It's flawless.

The farther they travel, the smaller the rooms become. The ceilings shrink, the architecture becomes more crowded, positively cosy. Rooms opening out upon rooms like systems of Chinese boxes, cloistering cloisters. Nooks. Crannies. The rooms are reminiscent of Arendelle castle, and yet, they are not. They pass through a dazzling three tier library, filled with unreadable ice books. A drawing room, with a dead, icy grate that could never be lit. Everything is beautiful; enchanting; pointless.

And yet, Anna wonders, how it seems somehow alive. She is sure as she passes a suit of armour that it turns its head. Olaf guides her through a room filled with giant chess pieces. Eyes seem to watch her, and she peers upwards. In the rafters there's a flutter of wings. Perfect snow-white doves, gazing down at her from the high beams.

Farther they travel. Farther and higher, Anna's leg aching, until they emerge from the top of the staircase, into a room different from all the rest. It's perfectly circular, the ceiling arching into a perfect dome, split into mandarin segments. A chandelier of hedgehog spikes. There are several doors. Olaf pulls her eagerly, tugging at her sleeve.

"Okay, okay!" she laughs, pushing the translucent doors open. She blinks against the sudden sunlight.

_Sunlight! _she realises. This palace is not the centre of the storm: it is the storm. No wonder they've climbed so many stairs, for Anna understands now they stand in the tallest tower of the palace, so tall it pierces the clouds. She grabs hold of the railing, looking down to see a ring of cloud circling the tower like a wedding band. Above that, the blue sky. She feels the sunlight on her face, every pore in her skin aching for it.

Olaf tugs, once again at her sleeve. Reluctantly she goes back inside into the cold, and he leads her towards the opposite door. In his growing excitement, he skips out from underneath her and runs inside, leaving her to stagger through the doorway.

"Olaf…!" she hisses, grabbing hold of the door frame. When something makes her start.

_Elsa…_

She is creating. With one flick of her wrist, ice spirals up into a magnificent candelabra. She turns. She turns so gracefully it's like she's dancing, dress sparkling like stars. A chandelier blooms from the ceiling. She dances.

Anna's _hello_ evaporates from her lips. She cannot look away.

As if Elsa's in a dream. Eyelids, drooping at half-mast, eyelashes studded with snowflakes. She dances. She does not look like a terrifying witch. She looks magic. She looks beautiful.

When she's finished, the room is an elegant drawing room. Curtains strung from snowflakes. Cabinets packed with memorabilia, drawn in the tiniest detail. Elsa's magic ceases. The sparkle in her hands sleeps. She stands, still, her eyes slipping closed; sated.

And all the words clamouring in Anna's chest for breath sleep also. How warm her chest feels. How strange. How peaceful her heart feels.

The last thing she expected to find at the Snow Queen's castle was peace.

**To be continued.  
**


	3. 3

_A/N: This is the last part. Please note the rating change._

**3**

More quickly than she could have imagined, Anna adapts to life in the ice palace. Every morning Olaf wakes her up to bring her breakfast, but after that, she's free to do as she pleases. Not since she was a small child has she been allowed such freedom. Instead of philosophy, to be able to think for herself. Instead of geography, to be able simply to wander.

And wander she does. Her injuries heal, and everyday is spent exploring. Endless rooms, endless corridors, and always something worthwhile waiting at the end of them. Today she thinks; I'll explore the east wing. Today she thinks; I'll explore that tower. She could never get bored of wandering the palace, for the palace _is _Elsa. All the more she sees, and learns, she learns about her sister.

And she wants very much to learn, if Elsa would let her get close enough to let her.

She and Elsa meet once, and then twice a day, for lunch and supper. The dining room is huge, the ceiling sculpted from sweeping arches. Her chair, set at the end of a long table. They eat opposite one another, and their words echo empty off the arches.

Every evening Anna asks her, "Will you stop the blizzard?"

And always receives the same reply, "I can't."

* * *

A fortnight they dance this dance. Skirting round one another, Elsa distancing herself**;** Anna, shy. At night, she lies in her room with bright, white eyes in the dark. Listens to the snow, the ache of the wind.

The knife, sat untouched on the table.

* * *

"How long," Anna asks, "how long were you alone?"

Outside, snow falls unceasingly. "A long time," Elsa says.

* * *

It even snows in her dreams. Children again, playing hide-and-seek and chase. _El-sa! Where are you? _Checking all her favourite hiding places, and at last, giving up, slumping down onto the bench in the courtyard to catch sad snowflakes. When Elsa bursts out from behind a statue, Anna runs. Elsa gives chase. Giggling. Squealing. Both of them falling into the powdery snow. Elsa sat on her, truimphant. _Got you. _Not her-sister-Elsa now but Elsa-the-Snow-Queen, straddling her hips. "Got you," she murmurs, a cold tickle in her ear.

* * *

In their dance, it is Elsa who finally bends. Evening, and a knock at her door. Anna, a cross-legged school girl on her bed, has been playing a card game with Olaf. When the knock comes, the cards scatter everywhere. Olaf falls onto his back in hysterical, silent laughter. Hands on her hips, lower lip thrust forward, Anna huffs.

She does not expect to see Elsa, still as a statue, standing in herdoorway. Since that first day, Elsa has never visited her bedroom. And Anna has yet to discover Elsa's own. Elsa hangs back, as if unsure.

"You can come in, Elsa." Her own voice sounds a little strange to her. She, too, is becoming accustomed to the silence.

Elsa listens, and perches at the very end of her bed, leaving several feet between them. "I just wanted to see if you wanted anything. To make sure you're comfortable here," she says.

Anna blinks. "I don't think I could want for anything here. I'm very comfortable. This room— this whole palace!- it's amazing, Elsa."

"I'm glad." She sees, in Elsa's lap, her fingers knot together. "Because, I understand it must be very different than at home. I know it must be lonely. And I've been afraid. That although you said you wanted to stay, really you…" It's the most amount of words she's heard from her sister. And each one tugs at her heart.

"Elsa," she says, "are _you_ lonely?"

The smallest nod. Her fingers, knotted together in tangles. And Anna scoots over, closes her hand over Elsa's like an oyster. Her sister flinches as though she's been burned, but Anna clasps hold tight.

"Why?" she murmurs. "Why do you flinch?"

"Because I am not the sister you remember." She looks at their hands, interlocked, as Anna threads her fingers through hers. "I have done things I once would never dreamed of. Things I did not think twice about."

"I don't care," Anna says softly.

"I've killed."

Again Anna says it. "I don't care."

"I have _enjoyed_ it," Elsa says. There's fear in her. Fear of herself.

Anna thinks about the knife, the wolf. Squeezes Elsa's hand, hard enough to hurt her. "I'm _not _afraid of you, Elsa." Anna's eyes meet Elsa's. Fierce fire against ice. "Because I'm not the sister you remember, either."

With her other hand, she cups Elsa's face, fingertips slipping through her hair. Instinctively, her sister pulls away.

"You don't," Anna says, "have to keep your distance. You can touch me, Elsa." Elsa relaxes, leaning into the warmth of Anna's hand. "What," she asks, "is it _you_ want?"

"I want…" if Anna blinked, she would have missed it: Elsa, subtly, sensually, biting down on her bottom lip, "to touch you."

Elsa comes to life. Her arms come around Anna and she pulls her into a fierce embrace. She buries her crown in Anna's shoulder, holding her tight. She holds her tight enough to hurt, and Anna wants her to hold her tighter.

"Actually," Anna says in a low warm whisper, hot against Elsa's ear, "there is something I've been missing."

"Name it." Elsa's voice, a low growl.

"Well… I could murder for a long hot bath right about now."

* * *

It doesn't take long. Elsa's servants— a clan of bears with snow-white pelts— parade past with a long claw-footed bathtub, pall-bearers to a porcelain litter. Others carry endless buckets of hot water from the geysers, up to the sparkling crystal bathroom.

The sight of the steaming water is enough to make Anna salivate. Her skin aches for the warm water, and as soon as the last snow-bear has hulked from the room she's scrabbling out of her gown, throwing off her shoes. She turns slightly, to see Elsa with an amusing look of surprise of her face. Anna fumbles at the buttons at the back of her dress, fingers trembling from the cold, the excitement, the feeling of Elsa's eyes on her. She cannot slide them loose.

Elsa's voice, breathy: "Let me help you."

Anna nods. She offers Elsa her back, pushing her long braids over her shoulders. She feels Elsa's deft, cool hands as they undo the buttons, top to bottom. She shivers.

"I used to do this," says Elsa, "when you were little."

Anna smiles against the memories. "The buttons were always too fiddly for me."

Elsa undoes the last button, and Anna shrugs the sleeves from her shoulders. The dress falls into a puddle around her feet.

"You've grown," says Elsa. Her eyes ramble over Anna in her underclothes.

A thrill of something runs through Anna. Not excitement, nor nerves, but something similar. She slips out of her chemise and bloomers without fear. She feels Elsa's eyes on her. She wants her to look.

And look she does, until a redness rises in Anna's cheeks.

"You've gone pink," Elsa considers.

"It's called blushing," mumbles Anna. Does she imagine the tweak at the corner of her sister's mouth?

"I know what blushing is, Anna," Elsa says.

Anna climbs into the bath. "Ah… that's so good." Her voice is a warm, sated caress. She sinks down into the silky water. Nothing, she thinks, has ever felt any better. After a few moments, she turns round, propping her arms up on the side. Elsa is still watching her like she could never get her fill.

"Would you help me wash my hair?" Anna says.

She watches Elsa imagine a stool out of ice and sit at the head of the bath. She sets to work unbraiding Anna's hair. The feeling of sister's fingers against her scalp, her neck. Loose, her hair's long, past her waist. Papa had always liked it long, so she'd grown it out to please him.

_What a foolish girl I was, _she thinks.

She should despise him, for what he did. And yet…

_What a foolish girl, I am still. _

* * *

Elsa creates more rooms for the palace. She's made seven reading rooms already, even though they don't own any books. Now though, she has a visitor.

Sometimes Anna stops wandering and comes to watch her sister creating, dancing. She doesn't disturb her, but watches in an easy silence. No longer shyness between them.

When they eat, Anna scrapes her chair along the floor to sit next to Elsa at the long table. Elsa washes her hair, running her fingers across her scalp, leaving trails of stardust tingles. Some nights, she visits Anna's room and they sit beside one another, legs and arms touching, and Anna coaxes a littleand a little more out of Elsa.

Piece by piece, she starts to put together Elsa's life from when she was taken away from her. _It's not like you think, _she tells her. _They didn't just lock me away and throw away the key. Not at first, at least. _

It was for her own safety, their papa told her, that she'd been moved downstairs. Just until she learned to control her powers. Papa bribed her, with new books and dresses, and Anna. _It's to keep Anna safe, _he'd tell her. And that's why she'd stayed in her prison, not for her books or dresses. For Anna.

And besides, the King and Queen visited everyday, until they didn't. And their mother, then, stopped coming altogether. Her father's hand in her hair. _Your power's getting _stronger, Elsa. _What if you hurt her? _And Elsa, so terrified then by herself, her own abilities, could scarce disagree.

_I knew about the __prophesy__, _Elsa told her. _And I was scared. I didn't want to be a monster. _

One day, he'd brought in the cuffs and the Master Armourer. The hard, metal contraptions with the heavy chains horrified her. _They'll help, _her father said. The cuffs frightened her, but she frightened herself more. So she let the King fit them, as the Master Armourer took notes. _We'll enlarge them, _she remembered him saying. _So there's room to grow. _

Eventually, even the King's visits began to slow. Even with her books, Elsa growing confused, angry, restless, the metal of the cuffs biting tight against her wrists. Nails digging into the soft skin of her palms. Anger becoming fury, white-hot in the base of her stomach. But when Papa would visit, a fortnight later, put his hand upon her hair, all she would feel was a desperate relief. She'd lean, greedily, into his touch.

_And in the end, _Elsa said to her, _I'd feel guilty for coveting his time when he was busy. Until he left, and it all started again._

_When… our uncle came to tell me the news about Mama and Papa… _her voice, a low breathy murmur, _I was so angry. I broke __everything in the room. I understood: by dying, Papa betrayed me. So I smashed everything. I wanted to ruin everything._

_I must have terrified Uncle Magnus. After that, they locked the door. The only one I spoke to was the servant who brought my food, until they began sliding it under the door. I thought I was a monster. I didn't deserve anyone's company. _

In that isolation, Elsa felt as though she was going mad. _Maybe I did. When I tried to read, the words stopped making sense. I couldn't think straight. I… saw things._

_Saw things?_ Anna asked. But Elsa would never elaborate.

_Dreams and reality started blurring. I forgot who I was and what I was doing there. All I could ever think about was my nose._

_Your nose? _Said Anna.

_It was itchy. With my hands bound I could never properly scratch it._

Everything changed however one day, a few months ago. _I heard your voice._

_**Mine?**_

_You'd come down into the dungeons, calling for someone named Gerda. As soon as I heard it I knew it was you. It brought me back to myself. I remembered who I was._

And Elsa understood then what was done to her. A monstrous rage overtook her. She broke out from her prison. _Two servants came running and tried to stop me…. I killed them. I enjoyed it. For so long had I heard them whispering about me, saying I was a monster. Fearing that I might be. In the end it was a relief. To finally become the creature I was destined to be. _

Sitting on Anna's bed with their legs crossed, like two girls painting their nails, Anna squeezes Elsa's hands tight. "You're no monster," she tells her.

Elsa's weary sin-clouded eyes rise to meet hers. "Am I not?"

She says to her sister what she said to her uncle, voice rising with the force of her conviction: "You're not the monster. They are!"

* * *

…And the sight of the snow, of a world buried, cuts Anna to the bone. Standing outside, the snow lets off enough to see into the distance. Gentle flurries of white drift past like angels.

For the first time since she was a child, she thinks how beautiful the snow is.

Fear. Anger. Hate. Everything is buried beneath the snow. Their past, covered over with pure, crisp white. The kingdom she never wanted.

_I'm never going back to that place, _she thinks.

With all her strength, she throws the knife her uncle gave her out into the snow. It spins, and glints, and then vanishes into a tall drift. She spits on its grave.

* * *

"Anna."

They need no more words than this. By the bathtub, Anna turns to let Elsa unbutton the back of her dress. She slides it off and climbs into the tub. She doesn't blush now, when Elsa looks at her.

Today, she asks the question that's been lingering on her lips. "…Will you join me?"

Elsa only hesitates a moment. "Okay," she says, as she removes her crown. One by one, she removes her layers. Unpins her cloak, unfastens her gown. Like sheer silk, it slips from her with a _zip_.

Beneath the queen, Anna finds her; the familiar freckles on her back, the same perfect white skin. Her sister steps into the bathtub with a slosh and sits opposite her, their legs touching.

"We used to share a bath like this all the time. Do you remember?" says Anna.

"You used to throw out all the bath water," Elsa replies. Her mouth curves into a small smile. Little by little, she's getting better at smiling.

Where their legs touch, Anna feels it: a charge, a kind of magnetism.

"Except…" she says, "we're not children anymore."

"No," agrees her sister.

"Elsa…" she murmurs. "Come here."

She comes.

Elsa turns in the water and places herself between Anna's legs, almost sat in her lap. Anna wraps her arms around her. She can feel her, the whole length of her. And it's not enough.

An interesting combination: the heat of the water and the ice of Elsa's wintry skin. Anna presses her lips to the perfect egg-white of her shoulders, laying a pathway of soft kisses across her collarbone. Elsa arches back, head against Anna's shoulder.

The perfect position. Elsa's lips are parted slightly, a font for her to drink from. And she wants very much to drink.

She bows down to take the kiss from her sister, what rightfully belongs to her.

Not ice now, but fire. It rushes up Anna's thighs. It extinguishes all sentient thought.

Perhaps, down in the dark, Elsa was never taught that this was wrong.

And Anna does not _care_. She has broken free from her closed world, of books and algebra and old men and dust. She never wanted to be queen there. Because Elsa is her queen. Of ice and death and darkness and of her heart.

Because Hans's courtly kisses could never compare to _this_.

They break away, only for breath. Elsa turns, straddling Anna's hips. Her eyes are bright and sparkling. She's alive. Their father has tried to kill her, kill them both. But they're here: they're alive.

This time, Elsa kisses her. The frost of her lips and the heady heat of the water. Anna pulls her closer, crushing their bodies together. Elsa's hands tangling in her hair- long hair she's always hated until this instant- nails catching beautifully against her scalp. Anna's lips, weaving a snake trail down the contours of Elsa's body; her neck**,** the basin of her collarbone. Long, slick delicious kisses, down her breasts, on her bellybutton, following the cute trickle of blonde hair leading downward…Her sister makes a noise she's never heard part her lips before.

Mischievous fingers march like little soldiers up Elsa's thighs. She gasps. And bursts into a ringing peal of giggles.

By the time they're finished, they've lost half the bathwater.

Afterwards, they relax back in the water, now only just starting to cool. They've changed places, Anna's head resting against her sister's breast. Something drips. Elsa plays absently with her hair.

She does not need to say _I love you_, because Elsa has always known.

She is her queen, and she will serve her for the rest of her days.

* * *

Standing out on the balcony, Princess Anna and Queen Elsa face down the oncoming army. Arendelle's flag waves in the distance. The beat of the drum. Elsa's snow creatures crouch at the ready. Huge snow bears and wolves with crystalline eyes and incisors, falcons with razor sharp talons.

Anna reaches out and takes Elsa's hand. They stand, united. Anyone who opposes them will be crushed.

The cannon-fire sounds, and Arendelle's men charge.

Anna's gown, glittering in the breeze, is made from ice. A crystalline circlet sits atop her head.

She has learnt to love the cold.

**The End**

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. ^^ If you're on tumblr and you'd like to vote for the story the page is elsanna-contest.  
**

**I might one day adapt this into a proper multi-length fic when I'm done with Cut Through the Heart. Currently toying with the idea. Let me know what you think. **


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